


bite your tongue (till you taste blood)

by sirenofodysseus



Series: Mirror Universe [2]
Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, Mirror Universe, Retrospective from the Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:42:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirenofodysseus/pseuds/sirenofodysseus
Summary: Lorelei's over her head and O'Laughlin's only trying to help.(Or where we meet the Alternate Serious Crimes Unit for the first time). Companion to by mistake or design.
Series: Mirror Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2032588
Collections: Patrick Jane's Gift Exchange 2020





	bite your tongue (till you taste blood)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [loveconquerallx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveconquerallx/gifts).



> HAPPY CHRISTMAS, to my darling best friend! 
> 
> Hopefully you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

From beneath her third expense report of the day, the Sacramento Gazette’s headline peeks out at Senior Agent Lorelei Martins. Seated behind her cluttered desk, she can’t help but run her hand through her hair in frustration. Why in the _hell_ had she let Volker bully her into taking the Red Jane case? She should have known his bullshit line about _being the best unit equipped to handle Red Jane_ was all for the cameras and not at all how he truly felt.

If left up to Agent-in-Charge Thomas Volker, Lorelei thinks with a grimace, their jobs would have been eliminated a long time ago.

And now with the Red Jane case at their feet? Lorelei feels she might as well sign her resignation letter before more shit hits the fan.

“Hey,” Craig O’Laughlin’s voice interrupts her thoughts. She goes from staring down expense reports to staring down her subordinate. “We’re up. Case in Napa Valley.” Without hesitation, she’s up from her desk and she’s rallying the troops.

After all, Red Jane’s gone without apprehension for nearly five years—what’s a few more hours (or days) going to do? Killers need breaks too, right?

Right.

Stepping into the Serious Crimes bullpen, Lorelei takes a moment to assess her team.

Aside from her second-in-command, who trails behind her—her team is comprised of three other individuals. Timothy Carter. Dumar Tanner. Rebecca Anderson. All of them are good people, in her opinion, even if they’re not always all there all the time.

“Boss,” Anderson speaks from her desk, mid-conversation with Tanner, who appears sheepish for having been caught flirting again. Lorelei barely hides her eye roll. Although great with people, Rebecca Anderson has a problem keeping her legs closed—something she’s discussed with the junior agent, time-after-time. They work for the government, not a goddamned brothel.

Choosing to ignore the fact Anderson’s top button on her floral blouse is undone, Lorelei speaks.

“We’ve got a case. Carter, O’Laughlin, with me. Anderson, man the phones.” Carter nods, glancing upwards from his desk, while Anderson looks almost disappointed. She doesn’t even bother glancing to Tanner, who knows he’s not allowed on the field until he’s been cleared for active duty following his evidence mishap.

Again, good people who are just slightly misguided. They’ve only been working together a few years, so there’s always a few kinks to work out.

With time, she thinks, they’ll all be ready to tangle with the Devil; but for now, they’ll continue solving one-off murders.

Carter’s got a question out of his mouth before she has a chance to walk away. “Is it Red Jane?” Stopping in her tracks, she turns to face him.

“No,” she answers as she watches him scowl and she crosses her arms against her chest, “but it’s just as important.” She waits to see if Carter will lip her because he usually always does. If it’s not a Red Jane case, he typically has no interest, which irritates the hell out of her. They’re supposed to be civil servants, hired to protect, and serve the common good; not throw fits about how every case doesn’t revolve around the menace known as Red Jane. 

Fortunately, Carter remains silent though his grim expression tells her it’s going to be one of _those_ days. _Maybe_ , Lorelei thinks, _I should switch Anderson and Carter._

(She knows she won’t though, for two important reasons. 1) Anderson is naïve and has proven herself to be a liability on the field and 2) she can’t exactly blame Carter for wanting to catch the bastard responsible for killing his wife, Sally.)

With the orders given and no questions left to be asked, Lorelei turns again and doesn’t wait for O’Laughlin or Carter to follow her out.

::::

As she predicted, it _is_ one of those days.

No more than five minutes into telling Anna Turner’s husband about her untimely demise, Carter smarts off with: “at least your wife died with little-to-no pain” causing an extremely irate spouse and several threatening phone calls from Volker, warning her to keep her people in line.

Lorelei merely pinches the bridge of her nose and warns Carter, in no uncertain terms, that she can and will let him go if he continues comparing apples to oranges. Carter rolls his eyes in response and because Lorelei’s tired of looking like the bad guy all the damned time, she ignores it and him. Instead, she focuses on the case and the fact the media’s already hounding them for being unable to solve it.

O’Laughlin’s already looking concerned by the time they return to the office, so she pulls him aside.

“I’ll talk to him.” O’Laughlin tells her, behind closed doors.

“Don’t worry about him,” she replies with a wave of her hand before she removes the newspaper out from stack of files. “We’ve got bigger things to concern ourselves with.” She shows him the article and his mouth tilts into a frown.

“Red Jane?”

“Red Jane.”

O’Laughlin shakes his head. “I thought that was a rumor, damn it.”

“We both wish it were a rumor, O’Laughlin,” Lorelei answers with a sigh. Career-making case or not, she still wants nothing to do with it—and judging from O’Laughlin’s reaction, he feels the same way. “But no, it’s ours as of last Monday.”

“Wonderful,” O’Laughlin responds dryly and Lorelei nods. It’s anything _but_ wonderful. “You know we’ll find ourselves being crucified, as we were after the Bay Killer debacle.” Lorelei doesn’t nod. She’s already having nightmares about all the cruel and vicious things the media will say about her again, but she doesn’t tell him so.

Instead, she replies, “we’ll catch Red Jane,” because it’s only a matter of time before the killer makes a mistake. Nobody is perfect and Lorelei imagines she’ll catch him (or her) on a technicality.

(Or so she hopes, anyway.)

O’Laughlin doesn’t look too sure, but she doesn’t defend her statement as she’s got to start believing it herself.

::::

Six months into claiming the Red Jane case, the serial killer strikes.

It’s early Tuesday morning when she gets the call and two hours, after that, she’s standing in the living room of Candice Johnson who’s become the next victim of Red Jane. Smiley face on the wall, victim torn to shreds via a common kitchen knife and per usual, no viable clues.

Carter’s on edge. Anderson’s nervous. Tanner’s shifty.

And she’s attempting to keep them all together.

O’Laughlin, on the other hand, is cautiously optimistic.

“Red Jane will have left something behind,” O’Laughlin tells her, after Johnson’s body has been taken away and only her dried blood remains. “It’s the first killing in nearly eight months. There’s bound to be something.”

“Red Jane doesn’t make mistakes, you idiot,” Carter insults from behind them. Lorelei turns to see him fingering a photograph of the murder victim, surrounded by her friends. “He slaughters women; he doesn’t throw tea parties.”

“Carter!” Lorelei admonishes.

“It’s fine, Martins,” O’Laughlin replies, as he throws his hands into the air. “Obviously, I don’t know Red Jane as well as I should. My apologies, Carter.” It’s not fine though. Carter shouldn’t speak to anyone that way, especially not a fellow team member. Regardless of how unbothered O’Laughlin appears to be, Carter still needs to be reprimanded.

“I don’t care how you personally feel,” Lorelei tells him coldly, as she crosses her arms against her chest. “But you don’t talk to anyone on this unit like that.” When he says nothing, she raises her voice. “Am I clear?”

“Crystal,” Carter answers gruffly, though his grim expression tells her that he’s got some choice words for her; words, he knows, he probably shouldn’t be repeating where just anyone can hear them. She nods to his comment, before she turns to the CBI forensics team. Lorelei knows they’ll comb the place over for anything out-of-place, but she also knows Red Jane will have left nothing behind of importance. Red Jane’s not some star-crossed lover turned murderer, who got in way too over his head.

No. Red Jane’s a calculated, cold-blooded murderer, who knows exactly what he’s doing too.

::::

By the following Tuesday, the Sacramento Gazette is back at it again with a bold front-page headline reading, **CBI Hapless Against Red Jane** and a scathing remark from someone close to the CBI, which reads, “Agent Martins and her team are no closer to catching Red Jane than I am to winning the Californian lottery.”

“What a quote,” Jane tells Lisbon, over a cup of tea, as the two peruse the planted article for any mishaps. When Lisbon had assigned Rigsby the article, he’d half expected the brainless oaf to fuck it all up—but after reading the article, he’s pleasantly surprised. Perhaps, he thinks with a smirk, Rigsby’s not so useless after all. “He did well.”

Lisbon nods, sipping from her own coffee. “He did extremely well.” She folds the newspaper away, before she glances to him again. “Volker’s probably shitting himself right now.” Jane imagines the man in his tiny office, panicking over the tarnished reputation of his CBI and he can’t stop himself from chuckling at the image. It’s probably the sixth time, in nearly a week, he’s wanted to argue Lisbon’s _no cameras at the CBI_ policy, but he knows the moment he does so—he’ll have both Cho and Lisbon on his ass, as they’ve both pointed out the dangers of surveillance feeds and hidden cameras before. “Hell, I imagine the entire PR office is having a horrible day.”

Jane hums in agreement, before he finishes his cup of tea.

It may be a horrible day for the CBI, but it’s going to be a wonderful day for him.


End file.
